Take Care
by Val-Creative
Summary: Riza has no interest in command for the military, but she can admit glimpsing Roy stone-silent and enraptured just by a couple of loosened buttons has her feeling a kind of power routinely unexplored. /Canon AU. Royai. Oneshot.


**.**

 **.**

There are tiny flecks of white billowing out of the gray frost. The clouds turning denser.

Riza observes this in her usual stoic manner, gazing up through the steel-edged window, folding her arms behind her and tensing up. Her fingers wrapping, tightening around Riza's uniform-cuff, opposite wrists.

Somewhere behind her, Roy Mustang and Havoc argue over each other, gesturing furiously and yelling, marching around each other as if this is a challenge. She is not clear on what has _angered_ the second lieutenant to the point of barging into Roy's office, tossing a stack of formal paperwork into Roy's astonished face, but Riza will learn of it eventually. For now, she does and says nothing, glancing sideways reservedly.

Havoc curses, his entire face reddening, stomping out and jamming the door forcefully back into the latch.

The desk rattles.

Roy grunts out, storming across the carpet and raking his hands through his black hair, pushing fingertips over his eyelids until they slow-stretch. This is the man Riza's father taught. One of the only living people who understood the intricacies of Flame Alchemy and could successfully wield it.

He _burned_ Riza's flesh to the point of rigid, pinkened scarring, upon her request. Roy swore to keep her family secrets _secrets_ and Riza would do anything for him. Not only because the Colonel was a good man.

It's because she _believes_ in what Roy stands for. Those ambitions and his commanding prominence.

"Sir," Riza acknowledges him, turning around completely and marching towards him. She halts short of Roy's innermost personal space, knowing that he wouldn't mind either way — just so long as it's _her_.

Roy doesn't straighten up from bowing over his desk, scrunching part of his mouth as he wipes his eyelids.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

His voice lifts like a warm, invisible current, rising and falling, as if it could drown her. Riza doesn't look away from Roy's profile, her expression unmoved as she tugs open her dark blue overcoat, meticulously slipping apart every hidden, designated button. A stand of honey-yellow drifts over Riza's upper lip.

As she lowers the material from her shoulders, Roy's eyes fall magnetized on her. His pupils widening.

Riza has no interest in _command_ for the military, but she can admit glimpsing him stone-silent and enraptured just by a couple of loosened buttons has Riza feeling a kind of _power_ routinely unexplored. She has thought about _them_ on occasion — Roy's clean shaven face nuzzling between her opened, naked legs, his tongue rolling onto her clitoris, his mouth sucking lightly on her mound and reveling in her wetness.

Yet, it's merely an impulse. Riza feels him guiding her, Roy's pale, bare fingers digging into her overcoat. He takes her in, staring over up and down with a more composed, thoughtful look.

"… It's very cold out, Lieutenant," he proclaims softly, adjusting Riza's overcoat over her shoulders again, reaching for the dark blue buttons. "And I cannot have my best soldier missing work because of a preventable illness." Roy hums out, slipping the dark blue buttons to their proper arrangement. His mouth curling to a thin, amused smile. "That's reasonable, isn't it? You must take care of yourself _first_."

Her own mouth twitches.

"Of course, sir."

"With all due respect, Mustang… _you_ probably need her more than she does you," Breda points out from the doorway. He salutes them, not missing a beat, grinning when they quickly separate, Roy's jaw clenching and Riza avoiding their eye-contact. A light pink and irritating flush appears over her cheekbones.

"Chose your next words _very_ carefully, Breda—" Roy warns.

"Yes. We've cornered the Mainstreet Murderer on Fourth and Juniper. He's decided to abandon his hostage."

Riza's head jerks to Breda who nods, and then she peers to Roy grinning too, nearly delighted by this news. " _Finally_ ," he mutters, reaching for his ignition cloth gloves and hurrying into the busy corridor.

 **.**

 **.**

When it comes to the safety and well-being of Amestris's civilians, there's no margin for error.

Maria Ross informs them the female hostage has been found alive and unharmed, and that the escape vehicle attempting to hide this brand new serial murderer has been tracked down. He's on his way _here_.

Riza gazes to the gray, cloudy skies, frowning. Her stomach feels uneasy.

Snow begins to hovering down, white and thick and fluffy, obscuring everything in sight.

The automobile swings into view, crashing into the nearby wall, smoking and wrecked. A man wearing a three-piece white suit and old-fashioned glasses pulls himself free, blood trickling out of his nostrils. Riza trains her gun on him, as the other soldiers follow her lead. Roy walks forward, _hrrumphing_.

"You may as well give up. Your chances of survival would be much higher."

Riza squints her eyes, disliking how the man bounces excitedly on his heels and claps his blood-damp hands. "I do not fear death, impudent whelp," he yells out, giggling maniacally, loudly. "But _you_ should!"

She watches in mounting horror as Roy presses his fingers together, activating his Flame Alchemy. Sparks brighten around Roy's forefinger and thumb, but vanish, dulled out by the excessive moisture in the air, landing on the clothed symbol of his Transmutation Circle. And then the serial killer yanks out an automated handgun, firing a single round towards the military soldiers just as Riza delivers a killing shot.

But she's _wrong_ — his bullet misses them, darting into the alleyway. That's when Riza notices the glow of yellowish-orange erupting, demolishing the walls and surging a blast of gasoline and flaming air towards them. She throws a bewildered Roy onto the ground, pinning herself over him, waiting for it to be over.

The _heat_ of it rushes over her, as well as bits of debris slamming into her back and legs. But she doesn't understand where the droplets of crimson _blood_ is coming from, pattering one-by-one onto Roy's forehead.

Riza kneels up, woozy, staring at the pipe embedded fully through her left shoulder.

"We need a medic over here! Listen to me— _NOW_!" Roy hollers, grasping onto her opposite arm and helping her up. He squeezes down comfortingly on Riza's wrist, turning her ash-dusted face gently to him. "Don't move around, Lieutenant. I've got you, shh. You're right."

"… _can't feel it_ ," she murmurs, tilting her chin in the direction of her bleeding shoulder.

Of all reasons, she can't feel anything. Not even fear or grief or rage. Riza has never seen him like this, screaming and desperate and panicked beyond composure. Can't hear his words either. Too fuzzy.

Blacking out means leaving him to face this alone. She _can't_ do that.

Thankfully, the excruciating shoulder-injury brings Riza back to consciousness, moaning and thrashing when one of the soldiers wraps a bandage stiffly around the area where the broken pipe lodges into Riza. Roy holds her in place, cradled against his front, one of his hands resting against her abdomen.

"I'm giving you an order, Lieutenant…" Riza blinks frantically, clinging to the sensations of their hearts beating erratically. " _Stay_ …" Roy whispers, his mouth pressing hotly to Riza's earlobe. "Stay with me."

Too much like a plea instead, but regardless, she leans the side of her grey, ashy face into his own.

"… … _Of course, sir._ "

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 _Fullmetal Alchemist isn't mine. Really don't have a clue about how long it's been since I've done Royai. Royai is so fabulous. I am participating in the FMA Secret Santa 2018 and am gifting for ayanthos! Hope you like it! If you read this and liked it, I would appreciate a nice word or two! Thank you so much!  
_


End file.
